Piece by Piece
by Arwen who loves Aragorn
Summary: Dastan and Tamina have been married for one year, but Tamina still doesn't remember anything about what happened earlier. Dastan is looking for the perfect wedding anniversary gift for her. But none of them realise that danger is lurking in Alamut ...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

No copyright infringement intended. I do not own Prince of Persia.

Author's Note:

I wrote this story when I was lying sick at home with the flu and had just re-watched the film. At first I just meant to write a short piece of total fluff. But then I decided to bring in a villain and things started to expand! You can still expect a great deal of fluff, though …

This is the story of how Dastan endeavours to win Tamina's heart after they got married, because she cannot remember anything of what happened between them earlier. But they both have a hard time finding the right way to express their feelings.

I do know that Dastan in the film has got blue eyes. But in my story, they are golden brown, period.

I also want to mention, that even though I got the overall idea for this story before reading other PoP fics, some stories on have inspired me to develop it further, especially _New Beginnings_ by TheNoblePersian. _Vengeance_ by Woffles92 is also a highly original and well written story, that I'll recommend to any PoP fan.

Oh, and one last thing. I've been learning English for 17 years, but it is not my mother tongue. If you feel there are some words that I used incorrectly, please enlighten me. I would really appreciate it because I am training to be an English teacher.

Enjoy!

~** Piece by piece ~**

A Prince of Persia fan fiction  
>by elfthoughts<p>

It was a year to the day since Dastan had presented Tamina with the Dagger of Time as a gift of betrothal. That meant that in one week precisely, they had their first anniversary as husband and wife. And though the Dagger was an artefact without equal in all of known history, it was a pretty measly wedding gift, considering the fact that it had actually belonged to her in the first place. Until he had decided to steal it from her only moments earlier. It was a long story. One that he hoped to be able to tell his princess one day. But the time was not yet right. Nevertheless, he was determined to give her something very special at this anniversary. Because he wanted to show her how special she was to him. In fact, he had tried carefully to show her that every day of their marriage. To show her how much he cared for her and admired her. He knew her. In another time, she had opened her soul to him. But she no longer remembered. It was the work of the Dagger. But in return, her city had been saved from utter ruin and his father, the king of Persia, had been saved from an attempt on his life by his own brother, Dastan's uncle, Nizam. Only Dastan now held the true knowledge of what had actually happened. No one would believe him if he told them, not even his father or brothers. He hoped one day to tell everything to Tamina. She was the only one who would ever understand, because she knew the power of the Dagger. But first, he would have to win the trust of her heart. And to her, he was after all just a stranger, some random, stuck-up Persian prince, who had attacked her city and barged into her life by request of his older brother, prince Tus. Sometimes he wondered why she had accepted his hand at all. It must be because of the Dagger that he had given back to her.

Dastan and his best friend Bis sat down at a table in "Kazim's Wine Room". It was the tavern they and Dastan's other men favoured of all in the Royal City. Dastan nodded at the Kazim, the tavern keeper, in the way that meant both "Hello," and "We would like the meal of the day." They came here so often that neither Dastan or the tavern keeper bothered with words when the matter was simply ordering a meal. Kazim was fond of the ingenuous prince and his lively retinue. They were good for business, both regarding midday meals during the week and nightly carousing on the weekends, and Dastan forbade his men to fight inside the tap room or otherwise cause trouble. He returned quickly with two heavy laden wooden plates, two wooden tankards and two ceramic jugs, a small one containing wine and a larger one containing water. Dastan's palate was parched, because he had been training with his men all morning. That is, if training was a word that could be applied to the disorderly brawling that took place in an abandoned lot near the harbour in the lower city. He took the wine jug and poured a small amount of the ruby liquid in his tankard. Then he poured water into it until the mixture reached the tankard's brim and held it to his mouth. Some gulping and hollow slurping noises were heard. Then he set the tankard down and refilled it in the same fashion.

"Bis, I need your advice. I don't know what to give Tamina as a gift on our anniversary," Dastan said as they began to eat.

More of Dastan's men spilled through the door of the tavern, talking and joking loudly. They were all sweaty and dirty, just like the prince and his friend. Bis noticed that Dastan lowered his voice more and more the closer his men came.

"My prince, you are really asking the wrong person," he replied. Bis did have his charms, and occasionally a girl would fall for them. But her infatuation always seemed to fade when she discovered that, in Bis' world, as the prince's right-hand man, no one came before Dastan. Thus he never seemed to be able to hold on to a woman for more than a week, two at the most.

"Well, you're my best friend, so you have to help, Bis! You must have some idea. But it has to be something very special," Dastan went on. Obviously he was in over his head in love with the Alamutian princess.

"Women like jewellery, don't they?" Bis said. "Why don't you go through your father's treasure room. You'd be bound to find something extraordinary."

"Yeah, maybe ..." Dastan muttered. A lot of women would probably be impressed with a select piece of jewellery from the Persian treasure chamber, but he doubted Tamina was one of them. For all her beauty and wealth, she had had a hard upbringing, learning many of life's lessons at a very early age, much like himself. She knew there were far more important things in the world than jewels and finery. No, it had to be something more personal, something which held an affectionate value. If only he could ask his father for advice. But king Sharaman and prince Tus were away on state business. He would have to ask his other brother Garsiv, who was left in charge of the city. It might and it might not be a bad idea. For one, Garsiv's view of the female sex did not quite match his own, and secondly, it was not easy to reach beyond Garsiv's usual defensive wall of mockery and scorn. But when you did, he was the most loyal and helpful of brothers.

Tamina had likewise been aware of what day it was from the moment she woke up. It was strange to think about that it was one year since Dastan had suddenly stepped into her life and hung around ever since in his sort of shy yet determined manner. She had noticed how he spent as much of his time as possible with her in Alamut, although the war against the Koshkhan, which fortuitously was now over, had required him to leave from time to time. Yet, he always kept a sort of polite distance to her. Often he would sit by the wall and simply look at her, his eyes following her every move. She did not mind, because his gaze was more like that of a dog worshipping its master than that of a pervert who imagined her naked, which well described some of her previous suitors. Sometimes he looked as if there was something he wanted to speak to her about, but he never found the words. And sometimes he looked sad. She was sure there was some great sorrow in his heart. She would like to know what it was.

She rather liked him. He was treating her more respectfully than any other husband of an arranged royal marriage that she knew of, had ever done with a wife of his. He had not taken any other wives yet, either, which would have been customary in Persian royal tradition. Rumour had it that he was desperately in love with her. Whenever her maidservant and friend, a young girl named Farah, mentioned this with a wry smile on her lips, Tamina would wave her hand dismissively and laugh the matter away. She did not believe in love at first sight, and Dastan's silly behaviour had been constant since the first day they spoke together. How could it be anything else than a fleeting fancy, set off by her beautiful exterior?

Except … there was something in his tone, that day when he handed her the Dagger back, that suggested that he might know of its power. What if he might even have used it and talked to her before and now she couldn't remember? But no. The Dagger could only reverse one minute of time. One minute was not enough to make any material difference in their acquaintance. He could not possibly know anything about her. He had even said himself that he did not. She clearly remembered the words he had used that first day, when she had accused him of mocking her: "_Oh, I hardly think we know each other well enough for that, princess. But I look forward to the day that we do_." Those words had never ceased to puzzle her.

She had not thought twice about accepting Dastan's hand, and she had never regretted it later on. She was not entirely sure why that was. Maybe it was the way she had felt from the first time she looked into his eyes. She had felt safe. Calm. Loved.

Actually it was even convenient for her that he had come along. Traditionally the role as guardian of the Dagger of Time passed from mother to daughter, and she would need a husband to get a daughter. Normally the guardian would choose a husband from within the covenant. That was not compulsory, but it meant that husband and wife would not disagree about the girl's training to be brought up as a guardian, which was a rather tough affair.

Tamina, however, had not had a keen eye on any man, from the covenant or otherwise. She just had not met the right person for her, and to tell the truth, she had not thought that she ever would. Then the Persians had come along and solved the problem for her. Well, not entirely, because so far she had not had a daughter. Or a son for that matter. That was partly Dastan's fault, because he had not yet stayed in her chambers for a single night. She was grateful that he did not just take advantage of her, but it was still very odd. Maybe, for some reason, he really was not interested. If that was the case, she would somehow feel hurt. Not even offended, just hurt. But maybe he was being so incredibly chivalrous that he was waiting for a sign from _her_ that he was allowed to stay. If that was the case, she was not wholly sure about how to react. Even though he was kind, he was still too much of a stranger.


	2. Chapter 2

Garsiv received Dastan in his own chambers. His adoptive little brother had just told him that he wanted help with an anniversary gift.

"It has to be something very special, you say?" A sneer began to spread across Garsiv's smooth face. Dastan must actually have developed some sort of feelings for the Alamutian lady who they aspired to call a princess. Tus and their father had claimed it to be so, and now he heard the evidence of it with his own ears. He could not really understand. The girl was pretty enough, but she had seemed far too bossy and open-mouthed for his liking. Garsiv thought humility and silence were more admirable traits in a woman. "You really like her that much?"

"I love her," said Dastan.

"My brother, be wise. Women only mean trouble if you let them have influence over you."

Dastan shot him an angry look. "I did not come here to discuss how women might be troublesome. I came to ask your help in choosing an anniversary gift for my wife. And I am rather in a hurry, because I leave for Alamut early tomorrow morning, so if you are just going to waste my time, I'll be on my way."

Garsiv thought for a second, then decided not to pick a quarry with his little brother. It was as if they had all of them – him, his brothers and their father – grown closer since Nizam's betrayal had been discovered, and he wanted things to stay that way. The bond between brothers was the sword that defended Persia. So king Sharaman had said to them all time and time again. It also came to Garsiv's mind that the reason why he could not understand Dastan's feelings for the girl might be that despite his numerous conquests in the battlefield of love, he had never truly been _in_ love himself.

"All right," he said, his sneer changing into an actual smile. "I accept your sentiments. Now tell me, what kind of girl is Tamina? Out of my extended knowledge of the female ways, I am sure I can help you think of something that will bring her joy." He put his arm around Dastan's shoulders and the two of them talked the matter over while laying back on Garsiv's grandiose couches while eating sweet dates and sipping cool wine.

The next morning Dastan went early to the royal stable where he saddled his favourite horse, a dark brown, almost black, mare called Mitra. He travelled light as always, with just a bedroll and a pack tied onto the saddle. In the pack was, among other things, one special item wrapped in a pouch of soft brown leather. That was his gift for Tamina. Part of it, anyway. His talk with Garsiv had helped him form a good idea in his mind. He was still working on it, but then, he would be three days on the road, so he had time enough to get the details right.

He was in his armour and had his two scimitars strung to his back in their sheaths in the shape of an X. There was every chance he might meet some desert bandits on the way. If he was worried about that, it was for the sake of the bandits. If it came to blows, the common raiders would never know what hit them.

He set off at a steady trot down the hill as he looked over the city roofs in the morning sun. Nasaf was splendid in its way. Full of trade, entertainment, and endless goings-on. It was well ordered too. Guards were present on most corners to ensure that law-breakers were caught and tavern fights stopped before they got too far out of hand. Nasaf was noisy and dusty and colourful. He had grown up in its streets and always felt at home there. Even after the king had taken him in, he used to spend more time in those streets than within the palace walls. Most of the men that now served him were friends from those days. A few, such as Bis, he had known ever since he could remember.

The holy city of Alamut, where he had spent a great deal of the last year, was different. It was light, harmonious and peaceful in comparison. Everything seemed to go at a somewhat slower pace there, and with a great deal more decorum. He did not feel at home there like he did in Nasaf. But Alamut was growing on him. He liked to look at the tall, beautifully decorated, creamy white buildings. In Alamut he felt at peace to think more than in any other place.

His journey went without any trouble to speak of. As could be expected, a small band of raiders discovered his camp one night, but Mitra heard them coming and warned Dastan with the slightest of whinnies, just like he had trained her to do, so he was on his feet, scimitars at the ready, before the bandits even got within the circle of light spread by his small camp fire. And as it happened, one of them recognised him and the band decided to draw back before he even had a chance to say hello.

At mid-morning on the third day of his journey he rode through the gates of Alamut. The sentries greeted him cordially.

He rode into the palace yards and handed Mitra's reins over to a stable boy after taking his packs from her saddle. He usually preferred to groom her himself, but whenever he arrived here, he was simply too eager to lay his eyes on Tamina to waste a minute that could be spared. He hoped the mare would understand. "Good job, Mitra. Enjoy your rest. I'll see you later," he muttered to her while he patted her neck. Then he let the stable boy take her away into the airy, shady stable building. She snorted her reluctant acceptance.

Dastan went up the many wide marble steps to the palace entrance, self-conscious of how filthy he was with sweat and road dust compared to the practically shining clean officials and servants who walked across the yard and the stairs in all directions. He tugged off his white head-cloth that served as protection against the sun when he rode and dried his face and his hands with it. As usually, one of the officials at the top of the stairs waved once in greeting to Dastan and then disappeared hurriedly inside. Dastan knew then, that the palace's chamberlain would seek him out within very few minutes and ask if there was anything he needed, and whether he wished Tamina to be informed of his arrival.

He continued through the light-filled halls and corridors, taking care not to brush against the chalked walls or the light tapestries until he reached the suite of chambers that had been assigned to him after his marriage to the princess. There he went inside and set down his packs near the wall. Just as he was putting his scimitars on the carved weapon rack next to the bed, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called.

The chamberlain, a short, bald man with a round nose and lively eyes, entered and bowed deeply. "Welcome, prince Dastan."

"Thank you, Hikirim."

"Is there anything you need, my prince?" the chamberlain asked with another, smaller, bow. At first Dastan had tried to make him stop bowing at every word, but to no avail. When he had found it was the same with all of the officials and servants, he had given up and accepted that this was the way things were done here.

"No, Hikirim, thank you."

"Would you like me to inform the princess that you have arrived?"

"No, thank you. I would like to surprise her," Dastan said with a grin.

"Very well, prince Dastan. Would you like a bath prepared for you?" There was a bathroom in his suite of chambers, with a golden bathtub, hot steaming stones and all the kinds of fine soaps and oils you could dream of. But Dastan preferred to use the servants' common bathhouse in a grove behind the palace. There was no need to carry up all those buckets of water to his room. He inquired whether it was open at the moment.

"It certainly is, prince Dastan," the chamberlain assured with another of those funny little bows.

"Then I shall bathe there." At home he usually bathed with all of his men in the lower city public bathhouse and no one took any special notice of him. Dastan knew that the chamberlain would send a servant ahead to the bathhouse to at least make sure there was room enough and clean water ready for Dastan when he arrived. There was nothing he could do about that if he did not want to seem ungrateful, he supposed.

When the Hikirim had left, Dastan went to a dresser where he found stacks of fresh, lovely smelling shirts, tunics and breeches woven in the softest mix of linen and cotton and tailored for him personally. He wrapped a set of the comfortable, luxurious clothes and a clean pair of slippers in a towel from the bathroom so he would not make them dirty on the way down. When he left the suite, he noticed that a servant boy had already been posted at his door, ready to run any errand or take any message. Poor boy. It must be the most boring task in the palace considering how little time Dastan actually spent in his chambers. But the boy would get in trouble if he sent him away. Instead he reached in his pocket and gave the boy a few coins that he found there. The boy took the coins, bowed low and then grinned broadly at him.

"Thank you, prince Dastan!"

Dastan went on his way to the back entrance of the palace, which opened to the gardens that lay next to the grove where the bathhouse was situated. He quickened his pace, eager to get cleaned up and fit to see the princess. But as he rounded a corner, he almost bumped into someone. He saw a blur of shiny, dark hair, the same colour as Mitra's skin, and a pair of large, dark brown eyes, and realised instantly who it was: Tamina.

He had planned to surprise her, and surely they were now both surprised. He only wished she hadn't seen him covered in dirt. The second they caught each other's eye, his heart skipped a beat. She always seemed more beautiful than he could remember when he had been away from her for a time, even if it was no longer than a week. Her eyes sparkled at him and her soft red mouth was still slightly open in surprise.

"Dastan!" she said, in her unique, sweet voice. That voice which had once scolded him, ordered him around and yelled at him when they first met, but later had spoken softly to him, had spoken words of love. If only she could remember. He longed so ardently to hear her say them again.

He did not know what to say to her. He wished that he could simply hold her close. But he did not know how she would react if he tried to do so. As ever, he was afraid of pushing her away.

"I - I just arrived," he managed breathlessly.

"So I can see." In no time at all her eyes had flashed down at his body, registering the state of him, and then back to his face. Now her lip curled just a little bit.

More silence. He wanted to say something interesting, but nothing came to mind. "I was just on my way to clean up. Would it be all right if I came to see you after?" He said in the end. Could he have been more dreary?

"Of course. You are my husband, are you not?" Oh, the awkwardness! It was driving her mad. Why had she said that way? Well, it was his own fault. If only he would be more relaxed around her.

"I am, and consequently the luckiest man under the sun." He felt the awkwardness too. It was best to move on now before it got any worse. This first meeting had not gone as well as he had hoped. Usually he kissed her cheek when he greeted her, to show her that he would like to be in physical contact with her. But it would not do now, when he was all sticky with dust and sweat and smelled like a pig. He stepped around her, holding her gaze for a while, and then continued down the corridor towards the garden.

"Dastan," Tamina called after him.

He turned back around.

"I'll be in my study," she said, smiling.

He nodded, smiling back. Somehow he felt all the better because of that smile of hers.

He entered the men's end of the bathhouse, and as he had predicted, a servant was waiting for him. The servant showed him to a basin that had obviously just been cleaned and filled with fresh, tempered water from the built-in taps. He placed the clean bundle of clothes on a carved bench made of light olive wood. Then he took off his boots, vest and breeches. The servant placed a tray of select soaps and oils near the edge of the basin as Dastan slid himself into the water. For a moment he just sat back and enjoyed the feeling of the water enclosing his body and lifting away the dirt. There was nothing like a cool bath after a long, hot journey.

"Is the temperature to your satisfaction, prince Dastan?" the servant asked.

"Absolutely," he said looking up at the servant. "You can be on your way. I'll take care of myself," he added.

The servant bowed and picked up Dastan's dirty clothes and took them away to be washed. Now the prince was almost alone in the bathhouse. There were six large, square basins in the room, placed in two adjacent rows. The basin that had been prepared for him was in one corner and in the opposite corner, two servants, who looked like they had been mucking out the stables, had just come in and was preparing for a bath too. They spoke in hushed voices, probably in order not to disturb him, but at the same time pretended not to have noticed him. Otherwise the room was empty and quiet except for some gentle birdsong from the gardens and the silent gurgling of the water against the basin walls. Dastan took a breath and held it. Then he slid under the surface entirely and all sounds were muffled and replaced with the surreal, constant whooshing of the water pressing on his eardrums. When his head came back up, he rubbed the water from his eyes and reached for the soap on the tray.


	3. Chapter 3

Tamina sat down at the desk in her study. She had meant to write a dispatch that would soon be overdue, but she could not get her mind into it. Her thoughts kept circling around Dastan. She had received a carrier pigeon four days ago notifying her that he would be in Alamut soon and she had been looking forward to it.

The image of him, standing in the clean, white hall, covered in dirt, popped into her mind for something like the tenth time. She had suddenly seen a side to Dastan which she would like to know more of. The Dastan who took action, fought fiercely, and roamed the desert – and who dressed in a clingy, moist vest and bare shoulders! If only it was true that he actually was in love with her, not just trying to be nice. Even though she tried not to admit it to herself, she wanted nothing more than to be swept up into those wonderful, muscular arms.

She was still lost in thought when the knock on her door could be heard.

"Enter!" she called, hoping it would be Dastan and not just some official. The heavy wooden door opened and indeed it was her prince. She rose from her seat as he crossed the room in quick strides. He was all clean now and he had even shaved. His hair was not yet dry; small droplets of water dripped from its tips onto the collar of his loose and, regrettably, long-sleeved shirt. As he came close to kiss her cheek the way he always did, she breathed carefully in, trying to find his own smell behind that of the lightly perfumed soap he had used. But he pulled away again before she had any luck.

She subdued a feeling of frustration over the kiss on her cheek. It was a nice gesture, but it was always the same. Could he not think of something new? Something a little bolder perhaps? He made her feel like an old aunt.

"Hello, Tamina, my love," he said, looking into her eyes and holding her hand.

"Hello, Dastan."

"Are you well?"

"I am in good health, thank you."  
>He kept holding her hand, stroking the back of it gently with his thumb. It seemed like he had longed to see her. Still, he did not really say anything of significance.<p>

"Such a puzzle you are, Dastan," she said, smiling.

"What do you mean?" He asked a little taken aback. He wanted to be an open book to her. But after so many months, she still called him a puzzle. Why was it so hard? Something his father had said about him came to mind: _He plunges into a hundred foes without thought, but at the prospect of matrimony he stands frozen with fear. And then there are those who say he is not yet wise. _Well, that 'wisdom' surely was not helping him right now.

"Nothing," she said, holding his gaze intently.

She was the puzzling one, if you asked him. He released her hand and stepped a couple of paces back.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me about your journey," Tamina suggested.

Dastan did what she had said, but as always, the recount of his journey was rather short and uninformative. He did not imagine she would be interested in the incident with the robbers which had been almost disappointing, or how he had had a good, fun gallop on Mitra one evening along the Oasis of Ahil-Tar. What would that mean to her? She rarely left Alamut or even the palace.

"There is something I would like to ask you, Tamina," he said, moving his chair a little closer to her behind the desk. He felt nervous that she might reject his request, but in any case he would rather get it over with sooner than later.

"What is it, Dastan?" Tamina said. He rarely asked her for anything. She wondered what it could be.

He had speculated for the last three days on the exact words he should use to make his request. Now he spoke them: "As you know, in four days' time is our first wedding anniversary. And I would like to celebrate it with you, by taking you on a ride."

"A ride? To where?"

"A place I would like to show you."

"Is it far? How long do we need to be away?" she asked, thinking about her duties.

Dastan was happy did not reject the idea right away. She might say yes! "Just three days. Please agree to come. It would make me very happy."

How could she resist those golden brown eyes of his, even if she wanted to? And she did not want to. It seemed that Dastan finally had decided to make a move, and she was genuinely interested in whatever this curious man wished to show her. "I would very much like to come, Dastan," she said.

"Thank you, my love. You will not regret it, I promise."

"Do I need to make any preparations?" she asked.

"No. I'll take care of everything. Just be ready to leave after breakfast on our anniversary," he replied with a wry smile and a sideways glance at her, before he took his place sitting by the window, just watching her while she finished her dispatch.

An hour later she was done and she decided to go to her advisor Firouz to inform him of the trip with Dastan. Firouz would then rearrange her schedule so that her absence from the palace would be felt as little as possible. She parted from Dastan in the hallway after agreeing to see him again at dinner. She could have sent a messenger for Firouz, but after sitting at the desk for so long, she rather preferred to walk to the counsel room herself.

"Firouz, a word please," she said when she had stepped through the door, which a servant held open for her.

"Princess! Of course, what can I do for you?" Firouz was a man in his forties with short, greying hair, thin and sort of hard with an absolutely straight-backed posture and a burning gaze. He invoked respect in all of his subordinates and his implacable determination made him an excellent advisor.

She explained about Dastan's request and bade Firouz to rearrange her schedule so that she might be free to leave for three days.

"Of course, that is no problem, my princess," he assured her. "But are you sure it is a good idea to go away with prince Dastan – alone, as I presume you'll be?"

"He is my husband, Firouz, I could hardly refuse."

"Of course not. It's just that I would hate to see him … take advantage of you in any way. You could make an excuse even if you could not refuse."

"Nonsense. Prince Dastan means me no harm. It is my wish to go with him on this trip," Tamina said in a tone that would not accept further argument. She walked away from the counsel room puzzled over what Firouz had said. Well, he had known her all her life and had the responsibility for her since her father had died when she was only six. He was just concerned for her. It was touching, even. But she was absolutely convinced that Dastan only had her good health and happiness in mind.

Later that evening, after their private dinner which went quite well, Dastan went out for a stroll and Tamina went to her chambers where she opened the heavy lid of an old chest. She rummaged a little in the slightly disordered contents. Then she found the item that she was looking for. She sat back on her haunches and examined it. She had not looked at it for years. Memories from her childhood popped up in her mind. Satisfied that the item was in an acceptable condition, she slid it into an embroidered cotton pouch with a drawstring that she subsequently pulled close. She then placed the pouch in a little leather bag, that she intended to bring on the trip with Dastan, carrying her few essentials, including the Dagger of Time, which was secretly supposed to follow her any time she left the city.

The following days went steadily by. Tamina began to feel satisfaction instead of irritation about Dastan's awkward silence and long shot gazes. She had the feeling that he was just biding his time. When they were away from the palace, on neutral ground, when he was in his own element, she was sure he would open up to her. She was quite busy because of the rearrangement of her schedule. She had to get ahead with her dispatches, leave orders for her chamberlain and also spend more time in prayer that her city would be safe in her absence. But she had no regrets whatsoever about leaving, not when it was for such a short time. In fact, she found that she looked forward to it more and more for every hour that passed. Her duties meant that she seldom left the palace. It would be wonderful to get away from the daily humdrum and routine. It would be wonderful to be just herself, with Dastan.

She was beginning to get irritated, however, by her advisor Firouz. Every day he repeated his concern and advised her to stay at home. On the day before her wedding anniversary, it simply became too much.

"Come now, Firouz, speak openly. On what circumstance do you base your concern? I am beginning to think you have something against my husband! If you do not tell me what it is, I will not hear another word from you on the subject, do you understand?"

"Yes, my princess. I … well I had hoped to spare your ears from the disheartening news I have heard about prince Dastan's way of conducting himself. But if you leave me no choice ..."

"I do not. Speak, now," Tamina said very angrily.

"I've heard from a highly reliable source in Nasaf that prince Dastan is not at all a man of honour. That he is known to spend every evening in the taverns of the lower Nasaf, drinking undiluted wine until he cannot control himself, smashing both tables and jugs and heads in his ravages. And then he is often seen dragging off the nearest tavern wench to suit his pleasure. The Persians have clearly done a great deal to keep these rumours from us, princess Tamina. It saddens me more than I can say. You deserve much better, my princess. But it only gets worse. He is also said to be cruel to his servants and deceitful towards his friends and family, always hoping to extract personal gain from their situations."

Tamina's determined expression changed into one of doubt and confusion as he spoke.

"But still, that is not all, princess."

"What could be worse?" she asked incredulously.

"He is a known murderer. If anybody gets on the wrong side of him, they tend to be found poisoned or with a blade in their back. But so far he has escaped justice, no doubt through his influence as a member of the royal family."

She was silent for a considerable time after Firouz had stopped speaking. The advisor's words shocked her, she had to admit. But then she pulled herself together.

"That's not the Dastan I know," she said. "It must be lies. Your source must have something against him and hopes to get him in trouble by saying these things. Prince Dastan would never do anything like that. That is not like him at all!" The picture of Dastan berserking in drunken madness or stabbing someone in the back was just totally unimaginable to her.

"Would you say you know him very well, princess?" Firouz asked carefully. He knew that she would have to say no, because he had often witnessed the polite distance with which the two treated each other.

"Perhaps I do not yet know him very deeply, Firouz. But you have seen Dastan's conduct here. He is nothing but kindness and thoughtfulness!"

"It might well be an act, princess Tamina."

She was silent for a moment, deep in though.

"On another note, Firouz, you should not have kept this information from me. I am not a child any more, I can think and act for myself," she said irritably, though her previous anger had subsided.

"Very well. You have my deepest apologies."

"Your apology is accepted. I'll be on my way if there is nothing else."

"What will you do about tomorrow, princess?"

"I don't know yet. I will sleep on it."

She went to her chambers. Dastan had already let her know that he would not come by this evening, giving her time to prepare mentally for the long ride. She was very confused. Firouz had described his news as 'disheartening'. Well, that was exactly how she felt now: Utterly disheartened. She had just become aware that the image she had formed of Dastan up until now was almost too good to be true. He seemed almost angelic. If only Firouz' source had exaggerated somewhat, the real Dastan would probably be no worse than the average Persian warrior prince. The rest was just evil slander, she hoped. It was funny, though. Dastan's gentle and polite behaviour towards her had slowly made her forget that she was lucky that he was even her age. That he even wanted to spend time with her. That they might turn out to be on the same wavelength would be a miracle. But she did not want to believe he was just like all the others. She wanted to believe that he was all he seemed to be. But which person was she to trust more? Her lifelong guardian and advisor? Or her elusive, polite but rather strange, husband-by-arrangement, who she had never really spoken openly with? It could be that Dastan _was_ a degraded villain, but one that hoped to correct himself with the support of his newly won virtuous wife and the change of scenery and acquaintance that Alamut provided? Yet, that idea was not very satisfactory, because it still implied that Dastan had not been entirely honest with her. She speculated for hours until she finally fell into a restless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Firouz went away from the counsel room, his anger evident by the tight lips, furrowed brow and his clenched fists. That princess was incredibly strong-willed. He remembered a year back. Her marriage had happened so suddenly that he had not had a chance to prevent it. She had made the decision all by herself, on a whim, in the matter of minutes. It had thrown him completely. But he soon realised that there was no strong attachment between the couple. For some reason Dastan evidently made no real advances to win the princess' heart. That meant that Firouz was still her primary confidant and thus his power was not threatened. But he needed things to stay that way, and young Dastan's idea of a romantic trip boded ill for his plans.

He had made all the rumours up himself, of course. It had proved fruitless to try to dig up trash about the prince. The man was practically a saint, which was very annoying. Firouz had been confident that the vicious slander would stop Tamina entirely from spending any more time with the prince. It had not gone exactly to plan. It was clear that he had planted seeds of doubt in her mind, and eventually that might prove to be enough to get the prince out of the picture. But he could not afford to wait and see. If she decided to go, they might come back from their trip in even stronger unison than before. He had to put more drastic means to use. And then perhaps he could still see his original plan through of marrying Tamina himself. In time he would be able to bend her strong will to his own and the Dagger and all of Alamut would be his. Eventually all of the world would be his!

Dastan was walking through the quiet streets of Alamut. He loved every second that he spent near Tamina, but he felt it was unfair to hover over her through the entire day in that dreary manner of his. He thought she would prefer to spend the last evening before their ride on her own. When they went, they would be constantly together for three days, after all. Now he took the opportunity to explore Alamut. There were many parts of it he had not yet seen. He had gone unarmed. Alamut was so peaceful. If he had been walking through Nasaf it might have been another matter altogether.

He decided that if he came across a tavern, he would go in for a tankard of good wine and get to know the people of the city. A voice calling from a narrow, rather dark passage a little ahead to his right, roused him from his musings.

"Please, sir, can you help me?" The voice sounded much alarmed.

When Dastan came closer, he saw that it was a street boy, maybe twelve years old or so. "What is the matter?" Dastan asked.

"It's my friend. He's had an accident," the boy panted. "He fell off the roof, and I can't find any guards. Please, you must come quickly," the boy pleaded as he turned and began to run down the dark alley.

"Wait ..." began Dastan, but the boy was already far ahead, and he seemed to be too distressed to listen. Dastan had no choice but to follow him. The boy was fast, too. After rounding the first six or seven corners, Dastan was no longer sure of his sense of direction. The houses passed him in a blur. He followed the boy into another set of dark alleys and narrow streets and found himself suddenly at a dead end. The boy stood near the far wall. In front of him were two men with drawn sabres. He recognised them by their garb as sentries from Tamina's personal guard force. Then he heard two quick thuds and turned to see two more guards that had jumped from the roof where they had been hiding, to block his exit.

"What is this?" he demanded, anger rising inside of him.

They took no notice of his words.

"You got your pay. Now get lost," the soldier to the right spat at the boy, who fled without hesitation past the other two guards who did not even look at him, and disappeared from the alley.

"What do you want from me?" Dastan all but growled.

There was no answer. All four soldiers moved closer, ready to strike. Dastan quickly cast a glance around him. Apparently he had been mistaken about not bringing his scimitars. He dodged and jumped quickly as the first two swords came down on him, then he rolled out of reach of the blades and got to his feet. They still barred the exit of the alley from him, but even if he had had the chance to escape, he was not sure he would have taken it just yet. He needed to find out what this was all about. He could not imagine that Tamina had sent her guards to kill him. Or could he?

He quickly ran two steps up the left wall of the alley, set off and kicked the nearest soldier around the head. The soldier tumbled down, Dastan landed, rolled past him and managed to grab his sword in the passing-by. In a flash he was back on his feet, holding the sabre out in front of him. That was much better, holding a weapon in his hand. He seemed to have knocked the soldier out. The remaining three formed a semicircle in front of him. He kept moving his feet, stepping to the right, so that his back moved closer to the opening onto the street. The soldier to the right seemed to think Dastan should move no further. He attacked, but Dastan blocked with his sword, then tried to get a hit in of his own. All the while he was keeping track with the other two guards. When they got too close, he ducked, leapt to his right while fending off a sword strike from the first guard. The guard's blade only just grazed his upper arm, right above the elbow. Then he stuck out his leg, tripped the soldier and gave him a blow with the pommel of the sabre. He stayed down. Now there were two left. He was almost at fair odds now and quickly got the better of the last two guards. Regrettably he killed one of them. After flicking the sword out of the last soldier's hand, Dastan punched him in the jaw and grabbed him by the collar of his uniform as he staggered backwards.

"Who was behind this?" Dastan grunted with bared teeth, holding his face close to the guard's.

The guard caught his eye fearfully but did not answer.

"Who? Tell me if you value your life!" Dastan put on his most fierce demeanour. Apparently it worked.

"Firouz."

"Firouz, the princess' advisor?"

"Yes."

Dastan tossed the man down angrily. Why did the advisor want him dead? And, more importantly, what was he going to do about it? He went on his way back to the palace, speculating. A merry evening in the tavern was ruined for him. As his adrenaline level gradually fell, he became aware of a prickling pain above his right elbow. He looked to see a scratch of about seven inches where the tip of the guard's blade had pierced his skin. A trickle of half-clotted blood surrounded the cut and some of it had run down his arm. It was not deep at all and the bleeding had already stopped, but he had better clean it when he got back to the palace. And it would probably leave another scar.

It disheartened him more than he could say to have an enemy in Alamut. Especially one so close to Tamina, if the guard should prove to have spoken the truth. It could only mean trouble for her. Unless she knew of it. But he could not think of a reason why she would want him dead. If she had not wanted to form an allegiance with Persia through, she could simply have said no. Tus had already apologised and promised to draw back their army before he suggested that she marry Dastan. And he was only third in line to the throne of Persia. He did not own any cities or great treasures of his own that she would inherit. She would gain nothing much by his death. No, it must be that wretched advisor who had some scheme of his own. The question was, should he tell Tamina about it? He did not want to upset her unnecessarily, so he decided to bide his time. He could always look into matters when they came back from their ride, and it was not even certain that he would ever hear from Firouz again after he had roughed up four of his errand boys single-handedly.


	5. Chapter 5

Dastan rose early, put on his common clothes which had been washed and dried and brought back to his room. He also put on his armour and scimitars and picked up the packs he had prepared for Tamina and himself and brought them to the stables, where he gave Mitra a thorough grooming and made sure she was in excellent health, like he always did before embarking on a longer journey. She neighed, cast her head up and down with joy and eyed him expectantly.

"Yes, girl, we are going on a ride," he said, "but we will have company. Tamina is going with us!"

The horse snorted, affronted.

"You're just jealous," he said indulgently.

When he had brushed her dark coat until it shone, he also checked her tack. It had been perfectly taken care of and was freshly cleaned and oiled. Then he went back to the palace for breakfast with Tamina in the garden. She was already sitting on one of the rosewood benches, pouring herself a glass of mango juice from a silver pitcher. He stopped in his track by the entrance to the garden, taking in her perfectly poised figure. She was dressed in a creamy white, wide-legged riding habit with golden embroideries at the hems and on the front. It contrasted perfectly with her dark brown hair, which slithered forwards over her shoulders as she leaned over to replace the silver jug on its plate. There was something special about the look on her face. He had not seen that expression before. It was relaxed, sort of peaceful, not marked with any of her usual sentiments, such as concern, anger, demand, puzzlement or worry. He realised it was because she was all alone. There were no officials or servants present in the garden. The princess thought that no one was watching her.

He suddenly felt a stab of bad conscience, because obviously _he_ was watching her, and he felt obliged to disabuse her. But he was simply so taken with that face, that beautiful, delicate face, that he could neither speak nor move. She looked so young and innocent. Like she had not a care in the world. Even though he was only in his early twenties, at that moment he felt old and haggard and rough and not quite good enough for her. He wished that she could always look like that, but her responsibility as guardian of the Dagger would forever weigh on her. He sent a silent prayer to the heavens that nothing would ever separate her from him. If that happened, he would surely die.

Finally he stepped forward, clearing his throat. As he had anticipated, the look on her face instantly changed into the one she usually had when she faced him: The one that told him that she was not quite sure what to make of him. He had tried so hard over the last year to make that look go away. Had tried ever to indicate that he had the best intentions for her as a husband; that she never needed to doubt him. He had tried to avoid giving her any reason whatsoever to resent him, and she did not resent him as far as he could tell. She just seemed to think he was somewhat odd, perhaps. And to be honest, he could not blame her.

If only he dared explain his behaviour, tell her everything. He could not contain himself for much longer, he was burning inside from wanting to tell all of his story, their story, to her. His world would not be in order again before he had done so. If only she would remember and feel any bit of the feelings they had shared then. Then there would be something for them to build on.

When he reached her, he took her hand, bowed down deeply and kissed it. He was about to say that the past year had been the most blessed of his life because he had spent it with her, but then ...

"Silly you," she laughed. That discouraged him and he changed his mind.

"Good morning, Tamina," he said instead, and discovered that he was breathless. He was actually nervous. Nervous if their trip would go well. If he would finally get the opportunity to reveal his heart. He sat down.

"Good morning, Dastan. Is anything the matter?" she inquired.

"No. Not at all," he replied, taking a few deep breaths to get his nerves back under control.

Odd, Tamina thought. He just sat there, looking at her. "Have some breakfast," she said and handed him a small basket of soft, spicy flat-breads. He took one and placed it on the plate in front of him.

"Thank you," he said, gathering himself together.

While he was eating, he discovered something else. She looked tired, and there was just a hint of worry in her expression whenever she looked at him.

"Did you not sleep well, princess?" he asked her.

Tamina thought she discerned true concern in his words. Or was that just because that was what she wanted to hear? "No, I didn't, I … It must be the excitement of today. I've been looking forward to going with you. Because I do think our marriage is worth celebrating."

"You do?" He felt like the sun rose inside his soul. That meant that she did have feelings for him. For the millionth time, words were stuck in his throat. He felt so happy. And relieved. There was no way she could have known about the assault last night. It was Firouz, that snake, who was responsible. He needed to tell her. But not right now. He wanted to enjoy their three days outside of Alamut. Everything else simply had to wait.

Tamina looked at his baffled expression. He really was something else. "Dastan," she said. "I don't think I ever got around to tell you. But you are one of the kindest persons I've ever met. I like you very much." _And I may even be falling for you, so please be the man I hope you are_, she added in her thoughts.

What she said seemed to suddenly unlock something inside him and the words just burst out: "Tamina, I - I love you so much. I know it doesn't seem rational to you, but believe me. No man could ever love a woman more than I love you."

Tamina looked into his eyes, searchingly. He had said many times that he loved her, but never expressed it so ardently and openly as this time. "But … how?" she asked. How had he come to love her like that? She finally felt convinced that his feelings were not of the kind that would go away or change when her looks changed. It was the real thing, an unselfish love, deep and genuine. But a love like that did not just pop out of thin air.

"I will explain it to you. I will explain everything. Soon."

"All right," she said.

"All right?"

"All right," she repeated. She was not sure why. She had not thought it through. But somehow he had her convinced that she could trust him all the way.

"All right!" He looked at her for a moment, awed, overjoyed at this sign of her trust. He had renewed hope that all would turn out well in the end. "Then let's go," he said with a big grin.

She got up from the bench and heaved the strap of her small bag over her head. Before she was quite ready he grabbed her hand and ran through the garden, leading her to the stable yard. She dragged after him, barely able to follow. "Dastan! What are you doing?" she shrieked exasperatedly. If only she had not let down her parades and let him take control. He was already beginning to irritate her.

When they reached the stable yard, however, he stopped dead in his tracks, a ponderous look on his face. He still held her hand.

"Princess," he said, eyeing her gravely, though there was still a hint of humour in his gaze. "Before we go, you make a vow to me."

"A vow? What sort of vow?" Tamina asked, wary.

"That if you go with me now, you must not change your mind and go back."

Tamina thought about how she had been looking forward to the trip. Why would she want to go back? Didn't he think she had a sense of adventure?

"I promise that I will not change my mind," she said solemnly and without hesitation.

"Good. And you must promise to do everything I say without argument, even if it may seem strange to you."

That was worse. Tamina knew how she felt about taking orders. But obviously this was very important to Dastan, and she wanted to give him a chance. "All right then. I promise to do everything you say without argument," she agreed, sealing her fate.

"Wonderful. Now wait here for a moment while I get Mitra," Dastan said, grin back on his face, and marched into the stable. Shortly after he returned with his dark brown mare and some packs. He looked at her with those fantastic eyes of his while he tied the packs to the saddle. She felt a jolt of excitement in her belly at the sight of him working and fought to suppress a smile. She very much liked the way he looked in his ordinary vest and armour, the handles of his scimitars protruding behind his shoulders as a sign of his deadly warrior skill. He looked much more at ease at this moment than he had ever done inside the palace.

As he finished fastening the packs, a thought occurred to her. "You said you'd take care of all the preparations. Where is _my_ horse?" she asked, hoping he would not ask her to saddle one herself. She had never saddled a horse in her life and would have no idea of how to do it.

His lips curled slightly before he answered. "You don't need one, princess. You ride behind me."

For three days? She could not believe her ears. "Dastan, surely it would be more comfortable if we each had our own horse!"

"And surely I remember you saying that you would do anything I asked, without argument," he reminded her as he swung himself up on the horse's back with his usual, muscular grace. Tamina muttered something under her breath that he could not quite make out, but it did not seem like she was using the most elegant section of her vocabulary.

He reached out his arm to help her mount up behind him. She took it and pulled herself up, not quite as gracefully as he had done. She felt the steady strength of his arm heaving her bodyweight as easily as if she had been a bag of feathers.

Now she was in place in the saddle and the horse began to walk. She instinctively put her hands around his waist. There was something strangely familiar about the situation, she thought. Like she had been riding with Dastan in this manner before, in another place, in another lifetime. But that must be impossible.

Dastan felt her suddenly stiffen as if in surprise at something.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, as casually as possible.

"I could have sworn that … but … no, it's nothing," she trailed off.

Dastan fought back his excitement. Was this perhaps a sign that his idea would work? He hoped so, oh, he very much hoped so.


	6. Chapter 6

Later in the morning they were well outside the city. In fact, all Tamina could see was arid desert and hard rocks in all directions. The air was already vibrant with heat and it would get much worse after midday. They had ridden in thoughtful quietness for a long time.

"Dastan, I need a drink of water," she said then, breaking the silence.

"All right. Just reach for the flask in the first pack to the left," he said calmly and reined in the horse so she would be steady while letting go of his waist. She leaned back, reaching for the pack with her left hand, steadying herself by taking hold of his upper arm with her right. Touching it, she felt a rough welt on his skin. She sat upright again to examine it. It was a long cut, not severe, but quite fresh.

"Dastan, how did you get this?" she asked in a concerned voice, lightly tracing the line of the wound with her finger.

"Oh, erhm … a practice fight, last night. Nothing to worry about."

"A practise fight? With whom?"

"With … some of your guards. Down in the city," Dastan ventured, remembering his father once telling him that any convincing lie always held an element of truth in it.

"Oh … Thought you'd liven things up a bit, did you?" she smiled.

"Precisely," Dastan agreed. Luckily Tamina did not inquire any further.

An hour later, Dastan stopped the horse again. They had reached the first of his intended destinations. It was quite an insignificant place in itself, actually. Just a tiny well-spring oasis next to a big rock wall. But the point was, it held a certain memory to him. He took a few deep breaths, preparing for what he must do. This would not be easy, but it was crucial that he was convincing.

"Get down from the horse, princess," he said roughly.

"What?" Tamina asked, nervously and a little hurt. Dastan had never talked to her in a tone like that before. Had Firouz been right after all?

"No arguments!" he reminded her.

She slid down from the horse. They were right next to the shallow water of the spring and her sandal-shod feet landed in the moist sand.

He turned Mitra around, facing her. "Wait here. I'll be back in a few days," he said and touched his heels slightly to the mare's flanks so that the horse started to move away slowly. It was heartbreaking to see the disbelief spread across her face.

"In a few days? What's going on?" she cried.

She started towards him, but he backed away. Feigning disinterest he said: "I just remembered there's something I need to take care of. Sorry, princess." Then he kept going further away from her. _Please, please make her remember_, he begged of the heavens.

"What? Are you going to leave me here, in the middle of nowhere? Noble Dastan, abandoning a helpless woman in the wilderness! What does your precious honour have to say about that?"

Her words sent a wave of emotions through him. It was the exact same ones she had used last time. She had to remember. He rode on for a few more moments, but heard no more protests. He chanced a glance back at her. She was standing stock-still, a small creamy white figure in the big reddish brown landscape. He could not yet tell whether his trick had worked or not. How would he explain if it had not? It would be difficult to regain her trust. But this was the point where he must turn back to her.

When he reached her, he saw that tears had streaked her cheeks. Her face was utter shock and confusion. He slipped down from the horse's back and put his arms around her to comfort her. For an entire year he had wanted to do just that, but not known how. Now, suddenly it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Dastan, I don't understand," she whispered. "We were here before, weren't we? I clearly remember shouting those words at you. Or am I going mad?"

"No, princess," he said and kissed the top of her head. "It did happen before."

"Has this got something to do with the Dagger?"

"Yes."

"But what's happened?"

"I can't tell you just yet, my love. You'll need to wait and see. Trust me," he soothed her gently. He kept his arms around her.

"You weren't really going to leave me here, were you, Dastan?" she asked.

"No, Tamina, no. I would never abandon you. Never," he whispered in her ear. When he felt that she had recovered, he finally let her go of his embrace.

They sat down in the oasis to eat and drink and eventually moved on without speaking much. He focused on steering the horse while she sat behind him, thoughtful, resting her chin on his shoulder. From time to time she would bury her face in the nape of his neck and breathe in slowly and deeply. There it was, the sweet scent of him, which she had failed to find before. Now she could simply not get enough of it. It lessened her worries to be so close to him. Her Lion of Persia. Her Dastan.

She had understood that his indifference and his declaring to leave her behind had been nothing more than an act, designed to prompt the memory that had emerged in her mind. But the whole business still unnerved her. That memory was only one piece of a missing puzzle. What else did she not remember? What past did she share with Dastan? And how had it all come about? He said that it all would be revealed to her soon, but would she like what she was about to find out? If it was not for his soothing presence and calm reassurance; the gentle and profound love in his eyes, she would have gone insane.

They reached their next destination late in the afternoon, when the unrelenting glare of the sun had finally subsided a little. Tamina was beginning to feel weary and dirty. She was not used to spending so much time in the saddle and her limbs were stiff and her backside sore. They were entering the opening into a valley and Tamina suddenly noticed some strange skeletons dangling haphazardly from uneven wooden frames at the side of the track they followed. Undoubtedly they were placed there as a warning.

"Dastan? Where are we?" she asked warily.

"Oh, we're at the Valley of the Slaves," he answered, completely unconcerned.

Tamina could not comprehend how he could make so light of it. The Valley of the Slaves was a very dangerous place. They had best avoid it if they valued their lives.

"Why do we need to go down there, Dastan? Is it absolutely necessary?"

"Yes it is, princess." They had now passed through the opening and was well on ahead the track leading down to the centre of the valley.

"But it's too dangerous! Haven't you heard the stories?"

"What, the stories of the fierce bandits, the cutthroats and the slaves murdering their masters?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, yeah, I've heard those. But that's all they are. Stories."

"Oh, I see," Tamina said with scornful disbelief. "So who _really_ lives down there?"

"Let me see," Dastan mused exaggeratedly. "A slightly crazed sheikh who really likes ostriches and a rabble of Persian tax evaders."

"You are making no sense at all," Tamina huffed.

"Well, it's true!" Dastan protested with a big arm movement, shaking with suppressed laughter. His princess was such fun to tease. He had missed that. "Oh, by the way," he said, reined in Mitra and slid down to rummage in one of the packs. "You'd better change into this. Just to be safe." He closed the pack again held out a plain, undyed linen dress and an old scarf to cover her head.

Tamina cast one glance at it. "No. Absolutely not."

Dastan raised one eyebrow. "No arguments. You promised," he said quietly yet unwavering.

"All right then, have it your way," she replied sourly as she slid from the horse's back and grabbed the garments from his hand.

Dastan was leading Tamina by her hand through the crowd of people that had gathered in front of the fences lining a sort of lane. She clasped the edges of the scarf covering her head with her free hand to hold it in place. The noise was deafening and people constantly pushed her and bumped into her. She let out a yelp as an incredibly heavy man stepped on her feet. Now they reached the fence.

"Let's stand up there," he said, pointing to a rickety platform close by. It was less crowded up there and they would be able to look over the fence and not through it, providing a better view. But Tamina did not even know what she was supposed to be looking at.

"The stairs are blocked," she said.

"Oh, never mind that," grinned Dastan. He simply jumped up, gripped the edge of the platform and easily swung himself onto it. Then he knelt down and reached for her. Tamina shook her head. She couldn't do this. Her body ached all over. Her head was throbbing with the heat and the great many new impressions she had already had that day. The platform was as tall as she was.

"Come on. Just jump and I'll lift you the rest of the way," Dastan gently coaxed, his warm, golden brown eyes looking expectantly down at her.

She could not resist his endeavours. So she breathed in and jumped as high as she could into his arms. He gripped her upper body so tightly that she involuntarily let out a gasp. She really was not used to being … handled like that. But he heaved her up quickly, the surroundings all becoming a blur, and in a moment it was all over and she was back on her feet on top of the platform. It had hurt a little bit, but at the same time it somehow felt really good.

Dastan protectively put his arm around her waist while ignoring the dissatisfied glares from the other spectators on the platform, who had been forced to make room for them.

His gaze was held on a particular spot on the other side of the fenced lane, which Tamina now recognised as a sort of racetrack. A sadness came over his face. She searched in the same direction, trying to discover what he was looking at and saw two unlikely figures on another, higher and wider platform. One was a rather rotund, unwashed man sitting on a rickety high seat who constantly talked and made big arm gestures. The other was a tall, broad-shouldered black man who stood quite still, poised and dignified, and very solemn. She looked back at Dastan, and it was obvious that those two people held a special meaning for him.

"Who are they?" she asked him softly.

"The one on the makeshift throne there is Sheik Amar, the mad guy I told you about," he began, then paused. His lips curled in a sad smile over at some memory popping into his head and he gave a little scoff and shook his head. "The other," he continued, "is Seso of the Ngbaka tribe. A very wise and very brave man. I have never met his likeness."

"They're friends of yours?" she asked incredulously.

"I hope they would be. If they remembered me at all. Us, I mean. Seso gave up his life for our cause. All I want is to say thank you. But he doesn't even know he ever met me."

Tamina sensed that this was another piece of the puzzle, but she still couldn't fit it anywhere. A slight feeling of deja-vu crept over her, but the memory eluded her conscious mind. At least, now she knew why Dastan sometimes seemed sad. He felt deeply indebted to the Ngbaka but had no way of showing his gratitude. As if a friend had turned his back on him.

"Ah look, it's starting!" Dastan said with a grin, sorrows pushed aside.

Tamina leaned forward to look and saw a flock of ostriches with jockeys on their backs pelting down the track, the huge birds' bodies wriggling awkwardly from side to side while their heads stayed almost still.

"Ostrich racing?" She hoped this was not one of Dastan's spare time hobbies. That would be positively dreadful.

Her sense of deja-vu grew stronger. The race was over in a matter of seconds and then she saw a group of women emerging on the track through a gate in the fence. They carried wooden trays with filled tankards and were clad in ghastly, scant outfits with golden feathers bobbing on top of their heads. Those feathers …

Suddenly a new wave of memory washed over her. She remembered all that had happened in the valley, how Sheikh Amar had found them and how they had barely managed to escape with the Dagger. There was one detail in particular, that was quite abhorring. She turned to face Dastan, full of indignation.

"You _sold_ me!"

"Traded you, more like."

"It's the same thing!"

"Well, princess you _were_ being a real pain in my bum, you know," he said, crossing his arms in front of him.

"But … but, you ..." she spluttered, unable to find words.

"Look," Dastan said, holding his arms out to the sides, "You are my wife and I love you. I'm not exactly proud of what I did, am I?"

He did not look proud, she had to admit. Actually he looked rather pained and squirmy.

"No. Sorry. It's just that I ..."

"I know. You don't know the rest of the story yet. But you'll remember soon. And then I will tell you whatever you missed. And I am really sorry I traded you."

"Sold me."

"Whatever. I'm sorry," he repeated.

She slowly moved back into his embrace.


	7. Chapter 7

An hour or so before sunset they were well beyond the Valley and came upon an oasis. The lush green grass, the ferns, the palm trees and especially the cool water was a welcome sight. Dastan signalled for Mitra to stop, slid down and led the mare to the water so she could drink. Then he lifted Tamina from the saddle and carried her over to the grass where he carefully set her down so her jewel-studded sandals would not get soaked. Then he waded back to the horse and started to remove the tack.

"I'm so tired," she sighed.

"Now we will rest until morning," he assured her. "And princess?"

"Yes, Dastan?"

"You've been very brave today," he added, thinking how strange and frightening it must be for her to rediscover piece by piece of a lost past.

"Thank you … my love," she said.

He nearly dropped the saddle he was holding. He stopped moving and just stared at her. It was the first time she had called him something like that.

The oasis was quite big. They found a nice spot to set up their small camp: A patch of soft, level grass surrounded by tall ferns and palms. At first Tamina was alarmed at the idea of sleeping rough but she seemed to console herself with it after a while. When they had gathered firewood, she asked him if it would be safe for her to wash in the fresh water of an adjacent little lake.

"Yes, I suppose so. Just don't take too long. And keep your eyes open," he said, thinking of the ever existent risk of desert raiders. "If you see or hear anything, come back instantly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my prince."

He sat down by the small fire and watched her as she left her sandals and picked up a clean cloth from one of the packs. For a moment she seemed undecided about what to do with that little leather bag of hers. He had noticed how she had kept it close all day. In the end she stuffed it out of sight between the bigger packs. Then she went towards the water. A little moment later, she came back.

"Dastan? Have we got any soap?"

"Soap? Only a princess would ask for soap in the middle of the desert!" he said with an impatient gesture.

She let out a rather spiky stream of words, telling him what she thought of his way of travelling in the desert.

She did not realise that he was joking.

"Princess!" he called as she turned to leave, and tossed her a small bar of jasmine scented soap that he had brought for her.

"Oh ... Well … No peeking!" she said and walked back to the lake.

Dastan sat down and turned his back to her. It would be a lie to say that he was not tempted to sneak a look over his shoulder. But he had managed not to dishonour her so far, and he figured that the day of their anniversary would be a bad time to begin to do so.

When she came back she looked refreshed and radiant. Strands of wet hair clung to the sides of her face and she carried a lovely smell with her. She got something from her bag and sat down next to him. The sun was almost gone. The last of its golden rays fell on her skin, making it glow. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

"Happy anniversary, Dastan," she said and handed him a small embroidered pouch.

"What's this?" he asked, gathering himself.

"A gift for you. It's something that belonged to me when I was little."

He was surprised. He had not thought she would give him anything in the way of an anniversary gift. He pulled open the beaded drawstring and pulled out the content of the pouch. It was a dust-green leather bound book with the star of the covenant impressed as a decoration on the front. He smiled even before he looked closer at it. His gift for her was also a book from his childhood. He looked forward to show it to her in a moment.

He opened the book and examined the title page, which told him that the book contained the Legend of the First Guardian, the little girl who offered up her life to save mankind and in return was granted guardianship of the Dagger. Tamina would have memorised this book from cover to cover as a part of her own training as a guardian. After marrying her, he had looked up a version of the story in the royal library in Nasaf. But as he turned the pages of the volume in his hand, he soon discovered that it related the story in much greater detail.

"It's the ..." Tamina began.

"I know what it is and what it means to you," he said, remembering the time in that other life when they had been trapped in a tent in a sandstorm and she had related the story to him herself. "I'll always treasure it." He smiled at her. She smiled back.

Then he got out his gift and handed it to her. She examined the red leather cover closely. "_Tales of Persian Heroes,_" she cited.

"Yeah, well, maybe it's not so interesting for you to read. But father would read from that book to Tus and Garsiv and me when we were small, as a way of inspiring us. It reminds me of those times."

"It's wonderful," said Tamina. "I wonder what it must be like to be a family."

He saw the longing in her eyes as she said it. "Maybe we will have a family together one day, princess."

"Maybe." The thought was like an incomprehensible dream to her.

"Tell me about when you were a child," Dastan requested.

For a moment she did not say anything, but then she began to tell. "I didn't see my mother and father much. For long periods they sent me to live with some prophets of the covenant, in a sanctuary near the Hindu Kush."

Dastan breathed in deeply. It was his plan to bring her to that very sanctuary the next morning. How would that turn out?

"The first time I was only four. The prophets undertook a great deal of my teaching and training. They'd set me all kinds of harsh tasks to train my endurance and my perseverance, like climbing the mountain with weights tied to my feet, or sitting in a cold room from one morning to the next without food or drink. They were constantly telling me that the purpose of my life was to protect the Dagger and keep it hidden. That it was my destiny and my own life meant nothing in comparison."

"Do you still believe that?" Dastan asked.

"Yes, I do. The Dagger has incredible powers, Dastan. If it was lost, if it fell in the wrong hands … terrible things could happen. It must be kept safe above all else."

He knew it was true, because he had seen its destructive powers with his own eyes. And he was ready to help her bear that burden.

It was time to go to sleep. Tamina lay enclosed in Dastan's strong arms which felt better than she could possibly have imagined. She was listening to the calming sound of his heartbeat, but she could not quite tell if he was asleep yet. She looked up into the dark sky covered in thousands and more thousands of stars. Being out here, underneath them, made her feel small and vulnerable. But being out here with Dastan made her feel safer than she had ever done within the walls of her palace or anywhere else. It felt as if he was beginning to fill a void inside her that she had never even realised was there before.

Tamina woke suddenly, totally confused. She could not tell what had awakened her, but then she realised that Dastan was holding his hand over her mouth. Something was wrong. He signalled for her to be quiet, and when she nodded, he took his hand away.

"There's someone out there," he whispered very softly into her ear, the words barely audible. He had heard Mitra give her warning whinny and he needed to get out and take a look. "It's probably just some raiders. Hide behind those ferns until I come and get you," he said, indicating the place where the ferns were growing thickest.

She crawled over the bedrolls, got her bag and edged towards the ferns. Dastan took up his scimitars which he had placed right beside his bed and sneaked out of their little sanctuary. He scanned the shadows around him until he saw a figure standing under the starlight a little way off. The man was clad as a typical raider in rather ragged clothes and held a long sabre. The strange thing was that he was alone. Raiders usually worked in smaller or larger groups. Perhaps this one was in trouble and had become desperate for booty. Dastan just hoped he would listen to sense. He would not kill a man unless he was forced to.

The raider had spotted him now. "Put down your sword and I will not harm you," Dastan called out, swinging his scimitars adeptly as a warning. If the man realised what he was up against, he might think better of attacking. But the man just walked slowly closer and closer. As he came near, Dastan could see that the look in his eyes was hard and calculating, not at all desperate.

"Who are you?" the prince asked.

They started circling each other.

"I'm your death catching up with you, Lion of Persia," the man said coolly before he swung his sabre at Dastan's head.

Dastan was taken aback. It was evident that the man was no mere desert raider. He fought like a professional killer, and a seasoned one at that. The blows and strikes pelted down on him with incredible speed and variation. He soon realised that he would be lucky to get out of this fight alive.

Tamina heard the clanging of the sword fight and an ill feeling crept over her. Something was just not right. When she could not stand it any more, she left her hiding place and ran in the direction of the sounds. Then she saw the two figures fighting in the moonlight. And even she could tell from the way they fought, that this enemy was very dangerous.

Dastan was in trouble. If only she had a weapon. But she did. The Dagger. Quickly she took it out and cast the bag on the ground. None of the two men had seen her, they were fully focused on each other. She tried to get behind the attacker and lunged at him with the knife. She knew it was not very sharp, but she had to try and help Dastan. Regrettably, her strike was unsuccessful and simply glanced off the man's leather back armour. She had ruined her one chance. Now he had seen her, and he forced Dastan backwards with a violent thrust, then struck her across the face with his hand. The force of the blow was so strong that everything went black for a moment and she fell down, the Dagger dropping from her grasp.

"Tamina!" Dastan screamed. He was distracted for a fraction of a second and the attacker managed to topple him over. The next instant he lay on his back in the sand with the point of the long sabre at his throat. But the man hesitated just long enough for Dastan to, in a flash, deflect the blade and rip it from his grip. He'd always had fast reflexes. But he was too quick to think the danger was over. Now the man kicked him in the ribs and pulled a thin, black knife from a hidden sheath in his left vambrace and plunged it into Dastan's unarmoured chest.

"No!" Tamina screamed. "No! … No! … " Dastan could not die from her now. It was too harsh a destiny. She wanted nothing more than to die with him, but she was guardian of the Dagger and … The Dagger! Using its sand would give Dastan another chance. She searched desperately for it on the ground around her while she could not expel from her mind the horrible image of Dastan with the black knife plunged deep into his chest. The attacker was coming at her now, stride by stride. Finally she felt the cold metal in her hand and she pressed her thumb down hard on the ruby on the Dagger's hilt.

And then time started to turn backwards. Everything was dissolved into a blur of golden dust and she saw everything happening in reverse order: The tall man walking back to Dastan, kneeling awkwardly down and taking the knife back from his chest, leaving no wound there. Then she saw Dastan rise strangely to his feet and herself rising from the sand and running backwards from the others with the Dagger ready to strike. Then the sand ran out and the vision came to a halt, herself sliding back into her own body.

She was back to the beginning, watching the two men fighting. She thought hard and fast. What could she do to prevent the disaster? It would not do to strike at the attacker again.

Instead she moved to make sure Dastan had seen her. Then she screamed a dreadful, chilling scream of rage. It had the desired effect. The attacker was surprised and froze for a moment. That was enough for Dastan. With a deft movement he disarmed the assassin and pointed both his scimitars at his chest.

"He has a hidden knife!" Tamina cried in warning at the same moment the attacker reached for it. He never got his hand on it, for in that instant Dastan ran him through and he slid limply down to the ground, dead.

"Dastan! Oh, Dastan," she sobbed and flung herself into his arms. "He stabbed you in the heart. You were going to die. But then I used the Dagger ..."

He held her tight, breathing hard. He had not understood how she knew about the hidden knife, but now it made sense. He tried to get his breathing under control as he stroked her hair and shoulders reassuringly.

"You saved my life. Thank you, princess."

He had not even known she had brought the Dagger with her. Now he understood why she had been keeping that bag so close all the time.

As for the assassin, he had never revealed anything, but Dastan had an inkling about who had sent him. He knelt down and examined the body but there was no clue as to his identity or anything that could link him to Firouz or any other hirer.

"He must have followed us from Alamut, waiting for his chance to strike in the dead of night," Dastan mumbled.

Tamina shuddered at the thought. Who wanted her husband dead? She turned her back while Dastan carried the body a little distance away and covered it with sand. She did not feel comfortable staying near the dead body through the night, but Dastan insisted that it was too dangerous to travel in the desert in the darkness. It would be idiocy to escape a hired assassin only to die of a poisonous scorpion sting or snake bite.


	8. Chapter 8

"Tamina, there is something I must tell you," Dastan said when they were back at their camping spot, sitting by the fire. As he spoke, he was cleaning another wound he had gathered in the fight. It was not severe, but he did not want to risk blood poisoning.

His tone was very serious. She looked into his eyes and waited for him to continue. "Last night when I got that scratch on my arm, I was not in a practice fight. I was attacked. By four men from your guard."

"My guard? Why would they attack you?"  
>"I believe someone has infiltrated them."<p>

"I can't believe it. How?"

"If the price was right, or if the person who asked them was persuasive or threatening enough..."

Tamina had to admit it was a possibility. The only possibility in fact, since she had certainly not ordered an attack on Dastan herself.

"But who could be that person?" she asked, her expression full of dread. She did not really wish to know.

"I asked one of them. He said … he said it was Firouz who had ordered the attack," Dastan answered, full of sympathy. He knew what it was like to be betrayed by someone you had relied on your whole life. Someone as close as family.

"I can't believe it," Tamina whispered again. "What would be his reasons?"

"I don't know," said Dastan, though he might have an idea. If Firouz was anything like his uncle Nizam, he was after power.

"Dastan, why didn't you tell me before?" she asked, hurt.

"I didn't want you to worry. And I didn't have any answers. Maybe you wouldn't have believed me."

No, maybe she would not. She had not yet had any of her deja-vu's then, she reminded herself. But there was also something she had not told him.  
>"Firouz didn't want me to go with you on this trip. He told me all kinds of horrible things about you," Tamina confessed.<p>

"Like what?"

"Oh, just … slander," she said, avoiding his gaze. She was not proud of the fact that she had let the vicious lies influence her. "That you were a drunk and a liar and a killer. A man with no honour."

"I could never be like that. Ask any of my men. Or my brothers. Ask Garsiv, he thinks I'm downright boring!"

She could not help laughing. "Tell Garsiv he's mistaken about that. But Dastan, I know it could never be you. You sometimes puzzle me, but I always only saw good things in you."

Dastan looked at her lovingly. Then he said, "I believe your advisor needs a thorough talking to one of these days." He would be more than pleased to deal with it personally.

"We must go straight back to Alamut in the morning," Tamina said.

"No. We cannot go there just yet."

"Dastan, if there is a traitor in the palace we can waste no time!"

"I know. But there is one more place I need to show you first."

"What could possibly be more important?" Tamina asked incredulously.

"You'll see. Trust me."

Dawn came at last to end the worried night. None of them had slept very well. Dastan rolled up their beds and gathered their packs. Tamina found her own bag where she had thrown it in the sand and replaced the Dagger into it. The sand container in its glass hilt was completely empty and it felt strangely light in her hand.

She went to get Mitra from where she had been tethered to the trunk of a palm tree and led her back to Dastan, who put on her tack and started to fasten the rolls and the packs. The horse seemed to feel Tamina's sorrow and gently rubbed her muzzle against her arm. Dastan gave the mare an approving pat on the neck and an idea popped into his head.

"Why don't you take the reins today?" he said to his princess.

"Me? You haven't even told me where we are going!"

"But you know the way. You memorised it as a little girl."

She paused for a moment. "The sanctuary?"

He nodded and knelt down in front of her so that his leg became a ladder for her to climb onto the horse's back. When she had mounted, he swung himself up behind her. He found that she was not the most skilled of riders, but she treated the horse with kindness and Mitra took it well.

Within six hours they found themselves on their way up in the cool mountains and the temple came into view. You would not notice it at this distance if you did not know it was there. From the outside, all that could be seen above the little village was a low gap in the grey rock, covered with a tattered cloth hanging that fell in with the colours of the surroundings. There was no grandeur or adornment of any kind. But the holy temple of the covenant lay inside.

When they came closer, Dastan's brow furrowed when he saw the sentries posted near the entrance. Had they been recruited into Firouz' service too? Well, there was only one way to find out. They must go inside that sanctuary.

He kept his eyes peeled and his ears pricked as they walked up to the entrance, himself half a pace behind Tamina. This was her special place.

"Princess Tamina!" the sentries burst out in surprise and bowed low. She walked past them without really registering. She was filled with apprehension of what this next piece of the puzzle would hold for her.

The sanctuary was the innermost room of the group of natural caves that made up the temple. As high priestess of the covenant Tamina was strictly speaking the only one allowed to go in there, but as Dastan knew what memory the place was holding, it would feel wrong not to bring him with her. As they stepped inside, Tamina immediately felt the presence of the blessing of the gods. It filled her with a serene comfort and all her fears were subdued. This place was so beautiful. The cave was huge and illuminated by specks of sun rays that came in through cracks in the ceiling. A stream of the cleanest mountain water flowed down over the rocks, making a low, jingling, splashing sound and reflecting the sun rays like thousands of sparkling diamonds.

Dastan stood back and let Tamina walk around the room by herself. He watched her tread carefully on the step-stones forming a bridge across the stream. There were no straight shapes or anything made by man inside this room. Still, it was perfectly formed, made by the gods for the purpose of delivering the Dagger to the first guardian. There in the back wall was the crack from whence the little girl had drawn it. It was the only place through which it could ever be returned to its creators.

As Tamina walked along the wall, the wave of remembrance washed over her for a third time, greater than ever before. Finally she remembered all that had happened during their quest. She saw before her how she had been about to place the Dagger in the crack, knowing it would cost her life, to stop the Hassansins attacking Dastan and Sheikh Amar's men and to stop Nizam from ever getting to the Sandglass. Dastan had tried to stop her from doing it, had wanted to take her place.

She also remembered how she and Dastan had fought each other to begin with. She had hated the sight of him and not trusted him one bit. But then, as time passed, they had become bound to each other by the bonds of destiny as well as love. She had discovered that she had been sorely mistaken about him. And the feelings he had stirred up inside her – she had never thought it possible for herself to feel that way about anyone. He had changed her forever, and in this moment, she felt the change happen once more.

Then they had gone to Alamut to stop Nizam, and she had seen Dastan plunge the Dagger into his own heart in his attempt to win his brother's trust. To think if Tus had not pressed the jewel and turned back time! But the worst memory of all was the one of the Sandglass chamber, where she was falling and he would not let her go so he could stop Nizam instead of saving her. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, to wriggle free of his grip and let herself fall into that endless nothingness, knowing he might be lost to her forever. Oh, Dastan. She never wanted to part from him again. But subsequently he must have succeeded, and the sand that had flowed freely from the Glass must have turned them all the way back to where …

"Tamina?" Dastan broke gently into her stream of thoughts. He had walked up to her and now he took her hand. "Do you remember something?"

"Yes. I remember everything now. Dastan, you … " All this time he had been the only living person who knew the truth of what had happened. He must have felt so lonely. And all this time he had lived without receiving the slightest token of her affection. Well, she was going to give him one now that could not be mistaken! She put hands behind his head and brought his mouth to hers. Surprised, he staggered a little, but he soon got over it and eagerly received her kisses. She did not stop until she was out of breath.

"I love you, Dastan," she said when she had caught it again. "I love you so much."

Dastan's eyes lit up in joy. Finally he had her back.


	9. Chapter 9

"Dastan, do you remember there was a Hassansin spy at the high temple?" Tamina asked.

It was evening and they were back outside Alamut's city gates, which had been closed shut. Not a good sign, Dastan thought. "Yes," he answered.

"What happened to him?"

"I took care of it. No one noticed," he said a little distractedly. He was scanning the walls, trying to find a way to get in.

"You killed him?"

"He gave me no choice" he said, finally turning to her.

She nodded understandingly. "Were there more of them?"

"No, luckily there weren't. He was the only one. I set a trap for him outside the city and confronted him. He had no regrets."

All the way back from the sanctuary he had talked to her, filling in the gaps of her knowledge: How he had come by the Dagger in the first place, and how Nizam had initially deceived him and his brothers into attacking Alamut.

"There is no way we can get in," Tamina said resignedly, eyeing the top of the high wall.

"I've breached your city before, haven't I, princess?" Dastan said teasingly. He stepped closer to the corner between the protruding gate house and the wall itself. At a little more than three metres' height there was a narrow ledge. Then he ran straight at the wall and up it, setting each foot on the angled surfaces. He gripped the ledge with his hands and heaved himself up higher and reached for a wider ledge further above. The next minute he was standing upon it and before Tamina knew it, he had disappeared over the top of the wall.

There were two armed guards on the other side, who turned and faced him warily as he dropped to the ground just a few metres from them.

"Prince Dastan!" one of them said in surprise.

They forgot to bow. Was it because they had taken orders from Firouz to kill him on sight, or just because he had dropped in on them so unexpectedly, literally speaking?

"Why is the gate closed?" he inquired.

"We had news of an enemy force closing on us, prince Dastan."

"Who brought you those news?"

"Firouz the advisor."

Dastan thought about telling them that it was a lie, but he was still not entirely sure whose side they were on.

"The enemy force, if there is one, is not yet in sight," he said. "But princess Tamina is on the other side of the gate. Please be so kind as to open it and let her in."

They did as they were told.

When Tamina saw the massive doors swing open, she pulled herself up into the saddle and steered Mitra inside. Dastan got up behind her and they galloped up towards the palace as the sun was beginning to set. When they reached the palace yard in the dusk they found that it was strangely quiet.

"Dastan, what are you going to do? If Firouz has taken over the palace, you cannot stop him on your own!" Tamina said.

"Let me worry about that, princess."

At that moment, four guards emerged from the palace entrance, running towards them.

"Prince Dastan. We are here to escort you to the throne room," their leader said when they had come to a halt, forming a semicircle around the prince and princess. All of them had their hands on their sword hilts, ready to draw their blades should Dastan resist.

"I will come quietly if you let Tamina get to safety now," Dastan said.

"You can forget about that, Dastan. I'm going with you!" Tamina cried indignantly, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Tamina, I'm not letting you!" he argued, almost shaking her by the shoulders.

"Take us both. That's an order," she said to the guard, who had no other choice than to obey.

Escorted by the four guards they entered the large throne room. The first thing they saw was Firouz. He had had the nerve to place his skinny backside on Tamina's golden throne, surrounded by a considerable number of guards who had presumably entered into his service. Huddled along the right wall was a group of other guards, officials and servants who had been tied up. They must be the ones who had been clever enough to see through Firouz' lies and moreover had the courage to put up a fight. Hikirim the chamberlain was one of them. He sported a nasty, bleeding bruise on his forehead.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Firouz cried angrily at the guards when he met Tamina's defiant glare. "I did not tell you to bring the princess." He had planned to … talk things over with her at a later time, in private.

"My apologies, lord Firouz," the leader said.

"Well, bring her up here and make sure she stays where she is." Perhaps he could use her presence to his advantage at some point.

The guard and one of his fellows marched up to the throne with Tamina between them. Dastan strained to get free from the grip of the other two, to stay with her. He'd have succeeded if not two more guards had leapt to assist them. Tamina was turning her head as she walked to keep him within her circle of vision for as long as possible. Her gaze was as full of pain as his. How would they ever get out of this? Then she faced her former advisor and friend.

"If any harm comes to prince Dastan, I will kill you with my own hand," she spat at him before he had the chance to speak himself, hoping to see a flash of remorse in his eyes. None came.

Instead he laughed indulgently. "I would like to see you try," he tartly replied. Dismissing her, he rose to his feet and signalled for Dastan to be brought forward next.

"Take his weapons," he ordered, when the prince stood in front of him.

A guard immediately stepped up behind Dastan and removed his scimitars from their sheaths.

"Tell me, prince Dastan … was your little journey into the desert rewarding?" the traitor asked with a sneer on his face.

Dastan met his gaze evenly. "I don't see what business it is of yours."

"Not the talkative type, are we? Oh well. I won't waste my time on rabble like you." With those words, Firouz stepped back and waved an order at the surrounding guards. The first dozen of them surrounded Dastan and after stripping him of his chest armour they began to beat and kick him. He had no way to ward off the staffs and boots and fists that continuously pommelled him from all directions, because the guards still held his arms fast.

They went for all the most painful spots. At first he was determined not to say anything, but eventually grunts of pain began to escape his lips. After a while he was unable to remain on his feet. As he slid to the floor, the beating and kicking continued. He could hear Tamina calling his name and sobbingly plead Firouz to order a stop to the assault. Oh, Tamina. If he was going to die now, he was just happy that she had remembered everything they had been through together. But much rather he wanted to live and keep her safe all her life.

Firouz only felt pleasure at the sight of Tamina's tears and her lover's mistreatment. That stuck up piece of Persian scum was not going to think he could thwart a man like him. Not before he could see that the prince was on the brink of falling unconscious, did he raise his hand in a signal for the guards to let up. He towered over the prince as they all stepped back.

"The Lion of Persia … Let's hear you roar now!"

Dastan just lay still, hardly able to draw breath. His body was one big lump of pain. He did not think that he had broken any limbs, though. Very slowly he was coming back around and the former advisor swam into focus before his eyes.

"No?" the traitor said. "Then all that is left for you is … to die." He had taken one of Dastan's scimitars and now he raised it over his head, preparing to strike.

"No! No, Firouz, I'm begging you!" Tamina cried.


	10. Chapter 10

Then the hiss of a crossbow bolt was heard and Firouz let out a cry of agony as the stolid projectile skewered his forearm. The scimitar fell to the ground where Dastan scraped to get it before the guards could snatch it from his reach.

Tamina held her breath, looking in the direction from where the crossbow had been fired. She saw a young man with curly black hair and a round face climbing in over the window ledge. He was dressed in the same fashion as Dastan and she recognised him as his right-hand man from the time the Persians had invaded Alamut. More men spilled in through the window after him, and now they came through the other windows too. Relief surged through her. She took advantage of the ensuing confusion to escape the hold of her captors. The curly-haired man immediately made his way towards Dastan, fiercely stabbing and knocking down the guards who stood in his way.

"My prince!" he called and reached down his arm to Dastan.

"Bis! What are you doing here?" Dastan gasped as Bis dragged him to his feet. Bis guarded Dastan with a keen eye and a ready sword until he had gathered himself so much that he could put his reclaimed scimitar effectively to use.

"Word crossed me that someone was trying to dig up dirt about you back in Nasaf. Roham and I thought then you might be in trouble."

There was no more time to talk. A fierce and fast-paced fight had broken out all around them, between Dastan's men and Firouz' guards. The bonds of the guards who had been tied up were cut. They removed their guards' insignia which had now become the insignia of the enemy and joined in the fight, helping somewhat to even the numbers. Dastan and Bis threw themselves into the battle as well. Their men and allies seemed to steadily be getting the upper hand.

Firouz was no warrior. He fell quickly at Roham's hand even though he tried to cover himself behind some of his guards. Fewer and fewer enemies were left. Dastan could not imagine what these men were hoping to achieve by continuing to fight. They must see that they were beaten. It could only be pride or fear that kept them going.

But then one of them came decidedly at Dastan, who had got his hand on another sabre so that he now wielded a blade in each hand – his preferred way of fighting. The man approaching him was Ashdod, general of the guard force, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long limbs. He was an opponent to be respected. Dastan would need to keep his distance in order not to be sliced through the middle because of the long reach of his opponent's arms. The prince braced himself for the general's heavy attack and started parrying his strikes, waiting for an opportunity to get close and strike himself. He still felt considerable pain from the beating he had taken, and he knew he would be worn out faster than usual. If only he could avoid making any ill judgements, like trying to finish the fight too quickly, or taking unnecessary risks.

Dastan and Ashdod kept fighting for several minutes, one moment the general having the upper hand, the next, the prince. Dastan was straining more and more with each movement. In the end, they were the only ones who were still fighting. Both Bis and Roham stood by, ready to aid Dastan if he should get in trouble, but not wanting to take anything out of his prospective victory.

It became the general that fell short. Dastan evaded a wide slash at the last instant, then stepped in and struck him a mortal blow in the side. Ashdod's tall form collapsed on the floor, lifeless. It was over.

Everybody's eyes were now on the Persian prince. They were all, soldiers and servants alike, awed at his endurance through that last exhausting fight. He stood still, eyes cast down upon his fallen enemy, his chest heaving violently.

Dastan's gaze seemed to blur and go out of focus. He dropped to one knee, utterly exhausted, trying to steady himself by the sabre in his shaking hand.

Bis leapt to his side and pulled his arm up over his shoulder, keeping him on his feet. Tamina ran forward too.

"Will he be all right?" she asked Bis fearfully.

"Princess Tamina," Bis answered and bowed his head, straining a little under Dastan's bodyweight. "I'll get him patched up, don't you worry. Just tell me where to put him, please."

"You can carry him to his chambers." She waved Hikirim over and asked him to show Bis the way there and assist him in any way that was needed. The two men left the room immediately, supporting Dastan between them.

"Princess," a voice sounded. She turned to face the speaker. It was Roham, the tall man who had once stood guard over her the first time she was about to be introduced to king Sharaman as a prospective wife for Tus.

He looked humbly at her, an unspoken plea in his eyes. She cast a glance around the room, seeing all the Persians step perfunctorily in behind him. Some of them had been injured. She knew that they were not nobles and not official members of the Persian army and were therefore not entitled to any benevolence from her. But she was not at all in mind of dismissing them.

"I and all of Alamut are deeply indebted to you, Persians," she said, raising her voice so everyone could hear. "You saved the city of Alamut and the life of my beloved husband, prince Dastan. You shall be granted all and any thing you need. You have only to say a word." When she had finished addressing them, she turned her gaze back to Roham.

He smiled. "Thank you, princess Tamina. In return, we will stand guard over your palace during this night and make sure that no further injustice will take place against you."

"That is no small favour and you owe me nothing. But I must admit that I am in dire need of assistance and I will accept your offer with gratitude."

She then turned to face the officials and servants standing by and started giving them orders: "Send for the physicians. Get the kitchens working and serve these men food. See to it that they have beds to rest in and give them anything they should require."

Hikirim's assistants scurried forth to coordinate the execution of her orders. Out of the milling group of gradually dispersing servants, her maid Farah emerged. Tamina could not help but smile her relief to see her friend and received her with open arms. The young girl bowed before her.

"Princess. Let me escort you to your chambers. You must be in need of rest."


	11. Chapter 11

"What do you require for the prince's care, my lord?" Hikirim asked Bis when they had placed Dastan on his bed. At first, Bis almost did not react to the question. No one had ever called him 'lord' and he certainly did not identify himself with the word.

"Oh … Clean water and cloths. Silk thread and a needle. Bandages," he listed for the chamberlain. "And if a physician can be got, perhaps something for the pain."

"Of course," Hikirim said and went on his way. He would make sure Dastan was attended to by the best physician in the city.

"How are you doing?" Bis asked his friend, who looked all the better for lying down.

"Oh, you know how it is, Bis. You win some, you lose some," he said with a somewhat strained grin of irony. "Listen, Bis. Thanks. I owe you."

"You do not, my prince," Bis said emphatically.

Dastan pushed himself up in a sitting position and his friend stuffed in a pillow behind his back.

"All the others just call me Dastan. But you, who has known me my whole life, you call me 'my prince'. Why can I not get you to stop?" Dastan asked.

"Because," said Bis carefully, "you became a prince for doing a good deed for me. And I would have lived my whole life in the gutter with no point and purpose if it was not for you. I will never allow myself to forget that – my prince," Bis smiled.

Dastan eyed him for a long minute, considering the words he had said. "Fine, then," he said in slightly exaggerated resignation.

They both laughed at that as two servants entered the room, one carrying a basket filled with cloths and bandages, the other a huge bowl of water and a pouch containing needles and silk thread. With their assistance, Bis started to treat the prince's wounds. Dastan winced and gritted his teeth when his friend pressed together the lips of a gash and deftly stuck the needle through the layers of skin and flesh. Over the years he and Bis had stitched each other up more times than he cared to count.

"Something has changed about your princess Tamina," Bis observed while working. "You'd almost think she was beginning to care for you. What could have caused it? I know it can't be your skill of romance, because you haven't got any," he teased.

Dastan punched his friend on the shoulder. "I'll give you skill!" he retorted. "Well, in a few days, anyway," he added and groaned in pain. The sudden movement had sent new shocks of pain through his chest.

Bis was almost done cleaning up Dastan when Hikirim came back in with the physician, an elderly white-haired man with kind eyes. He bowed for Dastan before he looked him over carefully. "Who did the stitching?" he asked with a curious frown.

"My friend Bis, here," Dastan said, indicating Bis with a gesture of his hand.

"Oh!" the old man said in a pleasantly surprised way. "Good work, young man. The bandages, too." He then examined Dastan for broken bones and concussion. Luckily there were no signs of either. A couple of his ribs had taken considerable damage, but Dastan had already expected as much. It was them that kept sending waves of pain through his chest whenever he moved too quickly.

"Prince Dastan, your life is in no danger," was the physician's verdict, "but you may take some time to recover fully, considering the vast amount of bruising. It will cost a great effort of your body. Now, as a last thing, let me prepare you a herbal tincture that will strengthen you as well as subdue the pain."

A few moments later the physician handed Dastan a cup of a strongly smelling, steaming liquid. Against his own better judgement, he gulped down the bitter drink, hoping ardently for the sake of its bad taste that it would do him good.

The servants and the physician left and Roham came in. He quickly explained to Bis and Dastan about the promise he had made to Tamina. He had hoped they would both approve, and he could see in their faces immediately that they did.

Dastan clasped his arm, thanking him from the heart. For a few minutes the three of them conferred about how the task was best carried out and then Bis and Roham went on their way. They had a busy night ahead. On the way out, Roham said, "Your father will be raging when he hears how you were treated."

"Don't send word to him just yet. I would like to write the dispatch myself," Dastan replied. He wanted to present the matter in a way that would cause as little tension as possible, for Tamina's sake. It was not her fault that her advisor had grown mad with lust for power.

When they were gone, he was alone in the room. After a while he found that the nasty drink actually seemed to be working. When he had rested for about half an hour, he felt strong enough to rise from the bed.

Tamina sat in her chambers, thinking about all that had happened. She had come to no physical harm, yet she felt horrible. Except for rediscovering her feelings for Dastan, these two days had been some of the worst of her life.

Her maid had brought her a cup of steaming hot cocoa bean drink, saying it would calm her down. Hikirim had been to see her and so had Roham, informing her of their plans for the security of the palace for the night. She trusted Dastan's men entirely and deeply appreciated the work they did. It would make the ensuing investigations a lot easier while she and Dastan could rest safely for the night. She had also been to the high temple to refill the Dagger with Sand and return it to its holder. She sipped the hot, bitter-sweet liquid while her thoughts circled around her husband.

"Please go and inquire if the physician is done treating prince Dastan soon," she asked Farah. She knew no one would stop her from seeing him, but for his sake she did not want to disturb the physician in doing his job. But as Farah went to the door, there was a knock. The girl looked towards Tamina who nodded. She opened the door and they saw Dastan standing outside. Apparently he had not bothered to put on a shirt, but as it were, most of his upper body was covered in bandages anyway.

The maid bowed down low. Tamina thought she could discern a suppressed smile on her face. "Is there … anything else … my princess?" Farah asked in a strange voice.

"No, thank you, you may go," Tamina said, barely able to keep a straight face herself.

The girl hurried away.

Dastan felt awkward. He and Tamina were back at the palace now. Would some things continue as before they left?

"I, erhm … just wanted to see if you were all right before I … " he began, still standing in the doorway.

But before he got to say anything further Tamina marched across the room to him, grabbed his hand, pulled him inside and closed the door with a bang. "Don't even think of leaving this room again tonight," she scolded. She simply could not bear the thought of sleeping without Dastan by her side again, especially not now.

"You enjoy telling me what to do, don't you?" Dastan said, feigning annoyance.

"Only because you are so good at following orders," Tamina shot back lovingly.

"Well, don't press your … luck," Dastan said, grunting over a jab from his ribs.

Tamina almost felt physical pain herself by seeing him suffer. "Oh, Dastan," she whispered, carefully laying her hand on his bandaged chest, "I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain!"

"Actually, I can think of something," he whispered back.

"What is it?"

He answered her by drawing her into his arms and kissing her slowly and gently.


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

An old woman walked up the path leading to the sanctuary hidden in the mountains. She trod carefully, her gait slow and dignified, her long, silvery grey hair waving gently in the wind. She was clad in a long cotton robe and had a small leather bag over her shoulder.

When she reached the top of the path, the sentries posted at the entrance to the temple, bowed deeply before her.

Inside the sanctuary, Tamina sat down on the cool rock, closed her eyes and felt the calming presence of the gods' blessing slowly fill her up. It stilled the last trace of fear present inside her old body.

She had had a wonderful, long and happy life with Dastan. He had taught her what it meant to have a family and together they had watched their sons and daughters grow up and do great things in the world. She had never sent away her daughter to be trained by the prophets.

Dastan had shown his love for her every single day until the end. Now he was gone from her and it was time for her to do what she had decided to, many years ago, when her first daughter was born. No daughters of her descendants should ever again be sent away from their mother and father like she had been herself. No corrupted men like Nizam should ever again have the opportunity to release the contents of the Sandglass. The gods would forever take back their Dagger and their Sands of Time.

When she had finished thinking, she rose from the rock and took the Dagger from the bag. She waded across the crystal stream and ascended the stone steps up to the back wall. She felt with her fingers for the hole in it. Her eyesight was not what it had been.

There it was.

With a deep, peaceful sigh she gave the Dagger back to the gods.


End file.
